


The Queen & The Guard

by aconfederacyofscript



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 16:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3536606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aconfederacyofscript/pseuds/aconfederacyofscript
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Oscar AU, in wich Jemma is the Queen and Skye is the commander of the Royal Guard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Queen & The Guard

November 12th, 1781.  
It’s cold that Wednesday. The streets are empty aside from the leaves that are yet to be swiped up and the young man that carries a heavy stack of newspapers. 

Skye is staring out the window of her small room, watching nothing, really. She simply plays with her gloves, turning them over in her delicate hands. They are a tad too big for her, which isn’t strange considering the fact that they were men’s gloves.

She used to have that problem her entire life. Her father Edward desperately wanted a boy, but was blessed with a daughter. Or cursed, as his words were in one of his tirades. His wish for a man came from his career in the military, his love for women (but in another way) and his conservative upbringing.

But he got a daughter and named her Skye after her mother passed away and those were her last words. “Name her Skye.” Because she believed that was where she was headed, wishing to have a connection to the daughter she would never know anyway. 

Skye was raised like a man, because her father always had been around men, and prostitutes, but he wanted another life for his daughter. It wasn’t an easy task, but he figured he couldn’t leave her an orphan. Her mother wouldn’t have wanted that. She was so little and even though he wouldn’t admit it, Edward loved his daughter. 

Once Skye’s boyish features started to wear off around the age of twelve, he realised that the shirts he bought for her didn’t fit well anymore, that her hips were starting to grow wider and frankly that she was growing up to become a beautiful young lady.

It wasn’t a tough choice, at that. He tended to a friend and had her measured up. A fine suit would look fantastic on her, as well as the regular garments she wore on a daily basis and, to be frank, the clothes she would wear to work. 

Early on it became clear that she had to make her father proud, and she did, when she started a military career, disguised as a man, and turned out to be a natural. She wore her bayonet with pride and hid her hair, that she refused to cut short, under her hat. Her father cried when she told him she would be joining the higher ranks of the National guard of the Queen. 

But her gloves had always been too big. She was about to start her second week at the National Guard of the Queen. And she was nervous, more nervous than her first day. 

* * *

Jemma Simmons hated mornings. It wasn’t always like that. Until her 25th year of age she loved mornings. She loved reading in her windowsill when the morning was crisp, riding though the immense garden on one of her horses or enjoying a stroll along the ponds, feeding the ducks. 

But when she turned twenty-five, she was appointed Queen and her entire life was turned upside down. Every minute of every day there were people beside her. Either guards or entertainment or guests or just people she had to tend to for business. 

There was never a dull moment, but then again there was never a moment Jemma had for herself. There was no time for relationships, since she was always working or guarded or in the spotlights. And there was this secret she kept, that no one should ever find out. That there also was no time for suitors, because the suitors proposed to her were, well, male. 

It was one of those dreadful mornings that Jemma was facing when she woke up. She would meet with the general of the National Guard of the Queen to deliberate over new recruitees, but not before her maids strapped her into a corset and hoisted her into a far to big dress for her liking. And that was only after she spent an hour with her coiffeur, who was about the only person she could endure during this time. Mostly because he brought delicious pastries from a little shop down town, also because Mister Fitz treated her like an actual human being instead of Your Highness The Queen, or Lady Simmons. 

It’d be weird if other people called her “Simmons”, but between the two of them it worked. Fitz and Simmons. It was a match made in heaven from the moment he was introduced to her and showed that he was terribly skilled. 

So it was then, on that dreary morning that, once all the preparations were done and she was presentable, that she waited for the arrival of The Guard in her salon.

“Your Highness, General Smithson has arrived.” 

Jemma nodded curtly. “Send him in, Charles.” 

It doesn’t take long for Smithson to enter the salon. He takes of his hat gracefully and salutes, before bowing a little.

“Good morning, your Highness.”

“General, lovely to see you. It’s been a while. Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea?” 

“Thank you. And please, if it isn’t too much trouble?” 

He sits down in the chair opposite from Jemma and places his hat on the table beside him, his sword getting awkwardly in the way. 

“Of course not. Charles?” 

“Yes, Lady Simmons.” 

“So, General. Tell me everything.”

While they enjoy their tea, General Smithson talks about the openings in higher ranks that should be filled and who he deems worthy for the position. A few of the spots involve Guards around the palace, in which Jemma is especially interested. She liked new people around the place. Her Guards were her company a little after all.

“Show me the Guards for the positions here. Have you brought them?” 

“Most certainly, they are waiting in one of the conference rooms.” 

“Let’s go, then. I want to see the faces of those who will enter my ranks.” 

* * * 

Skye is nervous and tries not to fiddle. She shouldn’t be nervous, her dad taught her differently and also, her training taught her differently. But she couldn’t help it. It was a once in a life-time experience. She has been working for the Queen for a week, but this morning she heard she might be shifting ranks. 

It didn’t happen often that someone of her age would be presented to the Queen herself, but it happened. She had never met the Queen, let alone seen her in the flesh. All she knew was that she was beautiful from the paintings and that it would be harder to hide her feminine side to her, than it was to men. Men were oblivious donkeys, but women sensed the presence of other women and that might also be her downfall.

“I present to you, Your Majesty the Queen,” someone announces and she stands up even straighter if that were to be possible.

The double doors are pushed open and there she is in all her glory. Skye has hard time breathing now she sees Jemma Simmons for the very first time, realising that words simply aren’t enough to describe her. This woman breathes authority, breathes beauty and elegancy, but also hints at sadness in the corners of her presence. Skye wonders why that is.

“Divide in groups. Palace Guards left, Guards of the Queen on the right. Move,” General Smithson barks and Skye walks over to the left where she lines up neatly next to two of her colleagues.

The Queen has a serious face that shows nothing. There isn’t a clue about what she’s thinking or feeling. Sometimes she asks questions to the General, but mostly she just walks, almost floats, past the recruitees. 

And then she’s standing in front of Skye, who can smell a hint of perfume and make-up. It’s deliciously intoxicating and she has a hard time focussing.

“Who is this?” she asks.

“Skye, Your Majesty,” the General answers.

“Just Skye?”

“Yes, madam.” 

She nods curtly before looking Skye in the eye one more time. She swears she can see a little sparkle in the hazel colours, but neither of them shows anything. Skye’s heart thuds in her chest and her hands feel wet in her gloves.

“I want her to trade places with him.” 

She points to someone from the Queen’s Guards and Skye is so gobsmacked that her mouth falls open for just one brief second.

“But, your Majesty, with all due respect… Skye is…”

“Skye is one of my Guards now, Smithson, with all due respect. Or were you going to back talk to me, sir?” 

“No, your Majesty. Skye, trade places with Johnsson.” 

“Yes, sir,” are the only two words both Skye and Johnsson speak before crossing the room.

“Alright. That’s all. If these men fill the positions assigned, I am more than content. Thank you, General.” 

Jemma’s eyes flick to Skye’s when she says ‘men’. But then she doesn’t look at her anymore. She just nods softly and leaves the room.

“Alright. Everyone knows their new positions. Congratulations, tomorrow you’ll be assigned to your sections.”

* * *

Jemma was interested to see how things would turn out with the new set of Guards. She knows she might have done something reckless, to go against the advice of the General, but this one Guard… 

She doesn’t even know what to think about him. The first thing she realised though was how awfully nervous he was, plus that his gloves were to big and almost fell off while saluting. It had something endearing.

Her gut told her to trade him, to keep him close, to switch him out for another Guard. This Guard in particular should at all costs remain around her quarters. Jemma felt like he would come in handy and for some reason she felt protected by the look that shone from his dark brown eyes. There was determination and loyalty there.

For a moment she considers asking the Guard to come in, because she’s also intrigued. She wants to know more. Why is he so loyal without having to Guard Her Majesty the Queen ever before? He was trained like that, definitely, but something told Jemma there was more. 

She thinks better of it, ignoring the stir in her intestines and scribing it off as hunger or impatience. She just turns to her extensive library and reaches to grab a heavy book of the shelf.

“Let me help you with that, your Majesty,” a voice sounds suddenly and she feels a soft hand on her lower back. She instantly retracts her hands and settles down on her heels. 

A big glove reaches above her and carefully takes the book, holding it gently. Within two seconds Jemma realises it’s Skye, the Guard she traded and her insides stir again.

“Thank you.” She offers a kind smile and Skye bows her head. 

“I was just walking by. You can ask me anything, if you need a hand. I’m happy to help.” 

“But you’re not a servant.” 

“You’re still the Queen, your Majesty. Now if you’ll excuse me, I was doing a round. Ma’am.” 

She tips her hat and hands the book over before taking a bow and exiting the library. Jemma is at a loss for words, which rarely happens. A blush colours her face while she makes her way over to her private quarters again, several Guards walking hallways with her until there’s another one to take over.

“Are you alright, your Majesty?” Charles asks when she sits down on the edge of a French chaise longue and takes a deep breath.

“Yes, perfect. Could you do me a favour, maybe?” 

“Anything, your Majesty.”

“Get me Mister Fitz; I need to discuss some hairstyles for the upcoming ball. And a glass of water, please, Charles.” 

“Right away, madam.” 

She sets down the book besides her. It’s about medicine, something that sparked her interest. She had read this particular edition already, but she found every page still as fascinating as when she read it the first time.

There’s a soft knock at the door and Charles walks in with a crystal glass on a platter that he sets down next to her, and Fitz, who takes off his hat and hangs his coat over the back of a chair.

“What is the urgency, Simmons,” he asks right away and takes a seat across from her.

“I’m not entirely sure. There are new Guards and one has… sparked my interest…” 

“In what way?” 

“I can’t describe it. He’s very kind, he has soft features. Almost feminine. It’s strange. He helped me out without me asking for it. Plus he wears gloves a size too big.” 

“You’re still making little sense, I am afraid.” 

“Do you believe in love at first sight, Fitz?” 

Fitz frowns slightly, pondering the question. Jemma herself doesn’t even know if she believes in it. There were plenty of reasons not to. A fan as she was of medical journals, she had read her share of novels. She read about love, the romanticised feeling of it. 

“I don’t think I do, ma’am. Why do you ask?” 

“Just because I am intrigued. The men that are proposed to me never sparked an interest with a first glance. This young man did. I’m curious, and afraid.” 

“You do realise that you could not go out with someone like that, yes?”

“Oh yes, but that’s out of the question. I am intrigued, is all. Perhaps you could call it from a scientific point of view.” 

“Science is a strange phenomenon. I am afraid I will not be of much use to you in this particular matter, my apologies. But Charles said you wanted to discuss hair for the ball?” 

“That’s correct.” 

“I brought my book.”

They spend the next few hours discussing what hairstyle would suit the occassion best. It was a ball after all. People with class, money and influence would be attending. Royal ladies, generals and dukes. It was an annual thing, one of the few things she liked. The ball was following a banquet and she enjoyed that the most. Especially the wine.

* * *

Skye carefully undresses when she gets to her room. She quickly starts a fire in the fireplace and takes a swig of wine. It tastes slightly stale, but it will have to do. Her uniform is hung perfectly in her closet, her hat on the storage shelf above it, her shoes at the bottom.

She knows she’s off duty, and after locking the door no one will come in. She won’t be requested unless there’s a war going on and that puts her at ease. She carefully removes the pins from her hair that still give her that boyish look and her curls tumble down over her shoulders. The Queen didn’t realise she was a woman, or she’d have said something today when Skye saw her in the library. 

She runs her fingers through the knots and sighs. She picks up a tiny piece of charcoal she had left and draws a soft line on her upper eyelids. She can hardly see what she’s doing in the cracked mirror that has a lot of specks on them, but she enjoys this. It’s her thing. It makes her feel like the woman she is after all, after pretending she’s a man for hours at a time. 

She walks over to the bowl of fresh water and dunks a piece of cloth. She strips her torso bare and runs the cold makeshift towel over her hot skin. She smells a little and needs to get rid of it. Skye never really enjoyed bathing. It was cold and made your body sticky until you dried up entirely. 

Once she’s clean and dry she loosely buttons one of her once white now grey shirts and settles down on the windowsill to watch the sun go down. 

She thinks of Jemma and blushes when she dares to refer to The Queen like that, even if it was internal. Even if she didn’t say it out loud. Their encounter was uncalled for. She shouldn’t have touched her. It was not on purpose, it just happened. But it shouldn’t have happened anyway. It was inappropriate and Skye mentally chastises herself for it. 

She should be more careful if she wishes to keep her position. Her father raised her to be better than that, and she was. You should never touch a woman without her permission. Her father actually once cut off a man’s finger because he was being rude. It was one of the things she respects most about him. He had been tough on her all her life, but he was the perfect example of a good man and also a gentleman.

Skye thinks about Jemma - The Queen - until it’s too dark to see a hand in front of her eyes. 

* * *

The morning of the ball is hectic. Everyone is running around with platters, pots and pans, cutlery and china. Kegs filled with fine wine are rolled through the hallways. The table needs to be set, the ballroom needs to be cleaned, and the chandeliers need to be filled with candles and Jemma… Jemma needs to be prepped.

On a regular day, getting ready already took her a long time, but today it would take her no time short of an eternity. She would bathe in lavender scented water, then she’d take her time to moisturise herself head to toe before she would go into hair and make-up. Only putting her dress on would take her an hour. She was excited, though. It was a festive day and she liked the banter that came with it.

Fitz is whistling a song she barely recognized while doing her hair, his hands massaging her scalp occasionally while he figures out how to go at it best. Jemma’s hair is easy to handle, though, especially when it is washed.

* * *

The morning of the ball is hectic, especially for the Guard. Everyone needs to be at the top of their game. A lot of people, also strangers, would be entering the palace and everyone needed to be kept an eye on. Not that they expected anything to go wrong, because who would misbehave in front of the Queen herself, but you never know.

There was an extra training scheduled that morning, the protocol was ran through multiple times and extra rounds were mandatory.

This time Skye isn’t nervous when she walks the hall with her partner, Trip. They were paired by the General, making sure that there was always someone for backup. Everyone had their own routes and Skye and Trip probably had the most difficult task at hand: protecting the ballroom. They would be lined up with other Guards in the ballroom after dinner where wine would flow richly, where live music would be playing and where people would be dancing.

Skye doesn’t dance. She never learnt how to dance and she wasn’t sure she wishes to learn it now, but she does enjoy watching it, so in that aspect she was looking forward to tonight.

“Are you ready for it, Trip?” she asks while inspecting the ballroom with him and he nods vaguely.

“Yes, very. I hope this night won’t be eventful and that we can all just go to sleep.”

“I presume that some of the men will get awfully drunk now that there’s an open tap.”

Trip chuckles softly and shrugs. “I guess you’re right.”

* * *

“Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to present to you, your Majesty the Queen.”

A trumpet starts playing an introduction and Skye clicks her heels together when standing up straight. The double doors to the ballroom are pushed open and she’s more breathtaking than ever, Skye decides. Her heart flutters and she swallows hard. Jemma’s eyes are stuck on the dance floor and her seat, looking no one in the eye before she sits down and motions for everyone to sit at their tables.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and guests. I would like you to enjoy your evening. Enjoy the food and beverages, enjoy the company and please, music!” she says and there’s a small applause when the musicians start playing a nice song. Men immediately make their way over to the floor with their partners, or the women they brought along for the night. Skye remains at a safe distance from the Queen, but close enough to guard her, not looking at her, but looking at everyone else. She doesn’t realise that Jemma, however, is stealing the occasional glance.

Somehow Skye feels like the atmosphere is shifting slightly as the night continues. The tipsy laughter has a drunk feel to it by now and she spots Trip in the crowd who shortly nods at her. She nods back. He has felt it too. She can see all the Guards shooting each other glances and nods.

“The safety of the Queen is at our best interest,” the General had said before they were send out today. The words echoed in her ears. She just doesn’t feel at ease and motions for Trip to come over and stay by her side. Two were better than one. The rest of the Guards slowly, cautiously, but also randomly form pairs again, as if nothing was going on.

“What is it, Skye?”

“I don’t know. It’s my gut, I feel like something is about to happen.”

And then there’s a loud bang in the moment that Skye sees a flicker of silver and steps forward. Pain flashes through her arm and women scream. She ignores the throbbing pain that seeps from her upper arm through her shoulder and all the way down to her fingertips.

“She lies with women!” someone shouts, muffled when a Guard pounces him, “kill her!”

“This way, your Majesty,” Skye says with clenched jaws and motions for Trip to help her. She can see the commotion on the dance floor. People have fled to the sides while the rest of the Guards wrestle a man down to the floor. He’s not wearing nice clothes, looks more like a servant than anything and Skye wonders why no one spotted him. Maybe he hid along the Palace’s staff.

She puts her working hand on the small of the Queen’s back and carefully moves her away from the festivities that turned into a disaster. Skye is a bit dizzy once they reach the Queen’s quarters and sends Trip to tell everyone that she was with the Queen and that Jemma was safe.

“And lock the quarters. No one comes in without permission,” she spits and Trip nods. He has never seen this side of Skye, but it spilled with authority. He has no reason to say no, so he simply moves away and Skye locks the door behind him.

Only then she realises what happened. Someone tried to assassinate the Queen.

“Are you alright?” Jemma and Skye ask at the same time and Skye laughs shakily. 

“Quite alright, thank you. Are you?” Skye asks again and winces when the adrenaline starts to wear off a little. She looks over to her upper arm and sees blood seeping through the cloth of her uniform jacket.

“You should have that looked at, Skye. Let me, please?”

“I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that, your Majesty.” Her eyebrows fly up when the Queen calls her that, she even remembered her name.

“It’s an order. Let me take a look at your arm. And also stop calling me your Majesty. You saved my life, you can call me Jemma behind closed doors.”

“I… okay, then. Jemma.”

“Take off your jacket, please.”

Skye hesitates with her hands on the buttons. Her physique is much more present without her jacket. This could be the moment that Jemma would realise that she was actually a woman and have her killed for it, but this wasn’t the time to argue that. Skye was injured and needed to be looked after, the rest she could deal with later.

She slowly unbuttons her jacket and shrugs it off her shoulders, wincing again.

“You got shot, it seems,” Jemma says and carefully runs her fingers along the cut. It’s a ricochet wound, Skye can see that, so it’s nothing too bad, but it’s pretty deep it seems. And it hurts a lot.

“Everything to protect my queen,” Skye smirks and Jemma laughs softly.

“Yes, thank you. Could you maybe take this off, too, and take off your hat?” Jemma means the long sleeved tailored shirt she’s wearing. She’s wearing a white top beneath it, but other than that there’s nothing to hide her breasts, the way her sides curve or the form of her abdomen. Also, taking off her hat would reveal the endless amount of pins Skye uses to keep her hair up.

“I don’t think I can do that, your Majesty. Jemma, please.”

“Why not.”

“Because… It’s indecent to undress like that in front of the Queen.”

“I have seen chests before, Skye, let me tell you that.”

“Yes, but I am afraid I look a bit different than the average one you have seen.”

“Take it off anyway, Skye. You need medical help; we can tend to the rest of the problems later.”

“Just promise me you won’t have me killed.”

Jemma looks her straight in the eyes when Skye says that, fear spilling through her irises and Jemma simply nods. She doesn’t know what exactly it is that’s wrong with Skye, but she also feels that she should help her if needed.

Skye swallows hard turns her back to Jemma to unbutton her shirt, letting it drop on the floor. It was ripped and bled on anyway. She had plenty of those shirts. She would have to see if there was another uniform jacket available. Then she slowly raises her good arm and takes her hat off, placing it on the table in front of her, carefully removing the pins and putting them all in her hat. Her soft curls tumble over her shoulders and she swipes them over one shoulder while running her fingers through it.

She can hear a soft gasp from behind her and Skye smiles sadly; she knew this would be the Queen’s reaction. This was uncalled for. She shouldn’t have undressed in front of the queen, she should have just gone to a doctor and have that be it. But she couldn’t, because she couldn’t refuse an order. And also because she secretly didn’t want to go to a regular doctor.

But then she feels two very soft hands on her shoulders, carefully mapping out the skin around her top, gently spinning her around. And there Skye is, standing in front of the queen, who thought she was a man, in just a tank top that reveals close to nothing, her tailored pants and her boots. She feels like crying, because the look that Jemma gives her is one of adoration.

“I’m sorry, Jemma,” she whispers, not daring to look her in the eye again.

“You’re a woman…”

“Yes.”

“In the National Guard.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Excuse me?”

“How did you manage to fool everyone?”

“My father raised me like a man. I don’t know anything else.”

“You are beautiful…” Jemma whispers and softly runs her fingers over the smooth skin of Skye’s clavicles and up her neck, her thumbs grazing Skye’s jaws, whose breath hitches slightly. Jemma clears her throat, then, and steps back.

“I’m sorry, we should take a look at your arm.”

“Yes.” Skye nods, trying to push down the blush that is spreading over her cheekbones and sits down on one of the chairs that Jemma motions to.

Skye is quickly bandaged up and Jemma calls for a few servants. Skye just stands by the window, looking out, being like furniture while they take Jemma out of her incredulously big ball gown and change her into something more comfortable.

“Skye?”

“Yes?”

“You can look now. Everyone is gone.”

She spins on her heels and smiles when she sees Jemma. She looks more natural now, with her hair falling down her back, her face almost entirely cleaned of make-up and in a dress that you could call leisurely. Jemma smiles back.

“So what happens now?” Skye asks quietly and fidgets with the hem of her top.

“I don’t know. I’m not going to spill the beans, Skye. I still want you to work for me. Your secret is safe with me.”

“But why?”

“Because I’m intrigued, and you don’t get rid of something that intrigues you. I admit that this is a strange situation, but I’m not letting you go now. You saved my life, the least I could do is save yours.”

Skye smiles softly and runs a hand through her hair, not so used to the feeling of it being loose and wavy when there was anyone else around. “Thank you. Can I ask you one thing?”

“Of course.”

“What did that man mean? When he shouted that you lay with women?”

“I hoped you didn’t catch that,” Jemma smiles sadly and sits down across from her, folding her hands in her lap. “Do you honestly don’t know what it means, or are you asking me whether it’s true?”

Skye holds her breath for a moment, considering what exactly she wants to ask, doubting if it’s too far over the line they already crossed today. “The latter,” she says finally and Jemma nods.

“I’m afraid that’s true.”

“Then we have each other’s secrets to keep.”

* * *

It is five days after the incident when things finally start to go back to normal. Skye still gets nervous sometimes when she feels like someone might have actually figured out her secret, but no one has. No one knows, and that makes Skye feel safer than she has in a while, because for some reason she feels like she has the Queen’s protection and that makes her untouchable in a way that many people would do horrible things for.

Skye never thinks of abusing that power or her knowledge about Jemma. What she told Skye was personal, as personal as the thing Skye revealed to her. It hasn’t left her mind a second since that day and it makes her heart flutter each time she thinks of her. It’s stupid, Skye thinks, mostly because she doesn’t know what’s going on. But she’s happy, nonetheless, and it makes her better at her work.

“Skye!” someone barks at her one afternoon when her shift is pretty much over and she halts on her place.

“Yes, sir?” she asks when the General walks up to her with a stern look on his face, two other Guards by his side. Another flash of fear sparks through her body and she almost flinches when he stops at such a close distance that she can smell his shaving cream.

“The Queen has requested you.”

“Me, sir? Did she say why?”

“No, Skye. She didn’t. But it must be an urgent matter. She also requested you in a suit. So you better hurry and change, sir.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

She turns on her heel and walks as quickly as she can to her room where she locks the door and yanks open the doors of her closet. A suit, right.

She takes her finest pressed shirt, her finest undergarments and her finest pants and jacket. She washes up quickly before putting everything on, tying a cravat carefully around her neck and polishing her boots slightly. She just wishes she could let her hair tumble down, but she manages to tie it up in a way a man would without wearing a hat. She looks nice, she figures, and sets out to meet the Queen.

* * *

Jemma is awkwardly nervous, waiting for Skye’s arrival. She had been planning to request her presence two days ago, but hadn’t been able to muster up the courage. What if she thought Jemma was strange? What if she was appalled by the reveal of her secret? What if things were just going back to normal and that one evening hadn’t meant anything?

But to Jemma it had meant everything. It had explained why exactly she felt so drawn to Skye. It was because she was a woman. That was why her intestines were telling her things, which was impossible, scientifically speaking, but anyway. That was why the woman was always on her mind. That was why Skye piqued her interest.

There’s a soft knock at the door and she calls out a ‘yes’ that is a bit higher pitched than she usually sounds.

“Mister Skye is here to see you, your Majesty,” Charles says and she nods.

“Bring him in, please.”

“Certainly.”

She shifts a bit on the sofa she’s sitting and takes a deep breath when the door opens again and Skye struts in, looking… breathtaking. She knew suits looked well on men, but she never realised how well suits looked on women. Especially on Skye. It was a beautiful suit at that, made from expensive fabrics. It is one of those suits that were hardly worn, especially because they were expensive. The dark blue looked great against Skye’s skin and made her eyes more vibrant.

“Hello, Skye,” Jemma sighs and smiles happily when a grin breaks on Skye’s face.

“Hi. You requested me… in a suit?”

“Yes… I’d like you to have dinner with me.”

“Dinner?”

“You haven’t already eaten, have you?”

“I have not, no. Thank you. I would like that very much.”

Their chat over dinner is easy and comfortable. They skip the topics of that particular night because there are servants in the room and the time isn’t there yet. Skye doesn’t think she has ever had dinner that tastes this good, nor wine that tastes this good.

Once the table has been cleared and the servants have made their way out, Skye and Jemma are left to their own devices in the room, aside from two guards at the door.

“You two can leave. Skye is here, he’s a Guard. If anything were to happen, I will be safe. You are dismissed to the end of the first quarter,” Jemma says to them and the two men nod before leaving the room.

The end of the first quarter was all the way down the hall where the Guards practically could only hear them if they would shout at the top of their lungs.

“There’s a gun in my bedside table, just so you know. Don’t murder me with it, though.”

“I wouldn’t dare to,” Skye chuckles and shakes her head.

“Would you like to let your hair down? You looked more comfortable like that last time you were here.”

Skye nods and reaches up to her hair, but Jemma moves over and grabs hold of her wrist gently before she can actually do something.

“Let me?”

She meticulously removes all the pins, placing them in Skye’s outstretched hand and then gently runs her fingers through her hair.

“I like the way you smell… you smell so soapy,” Jemma says quietly with a soft smile and Skye grins lopsidedly.

“I can’t possibly smell very nice. You’re the one that smells absolutely delicious.”

“It’s the oil, I’m pretty sure of that.”

Skye smiles again and tilts her head slightly. “Your hair looked nice when it was not put up as well, can I… maybe?”

“Yes.”

Jemma probably has more pins in her hair than Skye owns, but she manages to remove them all anyway. Her hair is wavy because of the way it was put up in some sort of roll Skye can’t pronounce and Skye’s breath hitches.

“What?” Jemma whispers and steps a little closer.

“I don’t know… You make me feel things…”

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Jemma says while she runs her hands up Skye’s arms and trails her fingers along the exposed skin of her neck, curling her fingers into her hair. “You’re one of my Guards and I’m…”

“You’re the Queen.”

“Yes…” Jemma says breathlessly when Skye’s hands travel down her shoulders and carefully wrap around her waist.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No…”

Skye is so close that Jemma can see everything in her face. The soft dimple of her cheeks, the way the skin around her eyes wrinkle with the soft smile, the very gentle splits in her lips that curve so beautifully, the golden specks in her eyes.

Skye can feel Jemma’s hot breath on her skin and leans in just an inch closer, rubbing her nose along Jemma’s nose gently, grazing her lips against the delicate flesh of her cheek. 

“Skye?” 

“Hm?”

“You can kiss me if you want,” Jemma whispers breathlessly and gently presses her body into her, arching her back slightly, looking into dilated pupils.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Skye. I’m sure.”

Skye knows that with everything that is happening right now, they are breaking every law of the universe, but she also knows that if something feels like this you shouldn’t let go of it. So she won’t, regardless of the consequences.

She runs her hands up Jemma’s sides gently, never breaking eye contact and then carefully cups her cheeks, stroking her cheekbones with her thumbs before tilting her head slightly and leaning in. She presses their lips together gently, slow at first, but when a soft whimper escapes from Jemma’s throat, Skye’s insides feel like they are on fire. They taste like wine and passion and Skye doesn’t think she can ever get enough after having her first drink of what was Jemma Simmons.


End file.
